


An Open Hand

by GreatGawain



Series: The Adventures of Pink Floyd [2]
Category: Pink Floyd
Genre: Gen, Not Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-03
Updated: 2020-06-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:54:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24527194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreatGawain/pseuds/GreatGawain
Summary: What happens when you put David and Roger against each other in a game of cards - AND let them bet money on it?
Series: The Adventures of Pink Floyd [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1772323
Kudos: 8





	An Open Hand

Gathered around the tabletop were two men. Two sets of five cards between their hands, two piles of 16 next to each person; in the temporarily neutral space before them, two singles face down and two smaller draw piles next to those. Their hands were poised eagerly over the singles, one with lanky fingers almost quivering with anticipation, the other still as the surface of a secluded lake. Two additional men looked on from the sidelines: one held a cup of tea against his lips in one hand and a clean saucer in the other, just a few inches lower. The second was silently gripping the edge of the table with something akin to… fear? No, not fear, but…  
Excitement.

Sapphire blue locked with emerald green.  
“Ready?”  
A nod. The thinnest of grins crossed a pair of full lips. Nick took a deep breath, glancing from one to the other, before he finally released them.  
“Go.”

Time seemed to slow as the two cards were flipped, but as soon as their backs touched the table, the air was anything but still.

As soon as he caught sight of the numerous red diamonds, David threw down the first card and immediately pulled another from his draw pile. Roger bit his lip but quickly scanned his hand, then smacked down three cards in quick succession, careful not to place them all at once lest he break the rules before their two judges’ watchful eyes as he replenished his hand as fast as he could.

“Lord, would you look at them go,” Nick breathed, fascinated by how quickly the two men were putting down and picking up cards. His eyes could hardly keep up with their antics. Richard watched from over the rim of his cup before returning it to his saucer. He nudged his bandmate gently. “Don’t distract them, I’ve got a hefty sum riding on this one, and I’m not about to allow you to muck it up for me.”  
Nick raised an eyebrow but kept silent as he watched the game progress.

Neither player spoke as they swapped cards on the stacks between them. David snatched up two, then paused only briefly before flicking a Jack of hearts to the center of the table, then a ten of spades. Roger seemed to grimace, but a flash of inspiration illuminated his eyes and he tossed a nine of clubs, an eight of spades, and a seven of hearts onto the same pile. His attention shifted to the second, smaller pile and he sported a devilish smirk as he dropped first an ace of hearts, then the final card of his hand – a two of clubs – onto it. David seemed to hesitate as his opponent quickly drew an entire new hand in record time.

Finally, after a few more exchanges, it happened: a stalemate.

Both parties scoured their hands for matches but came up empty. Richard drew in a breath from the sidelines and Nick’s eyes widened as he prepared to make the call. The two pairs of dueling eyes scowled at one another from behind their respective cards, unwilling to admit the draw but desperately wanting the game to continue no matter the cost. One at a time, they shifted their glances over to their drummer – one of their appointed referees – who nodded.  
“It appears there’s a tie. Get ready…”  
Their hands were on top of the secondary stacks of cards in an instant.  
“…Draw.”

With a flicking of wrists, the game was back on. As it progressed David’s steely gaze revealed nothing even though his hands revealed everything with dizzying thrift: he set down a three of hearts on one side, a ten of diamonds on the other, a two of spades on the first, and a Jack of hearts on the second. Then, with the tiniest of flourishes, he placed his final card on the larger stack; Roger watched in anguish as it was revealed to be an ace of clubs and David slapped his hand down on the cards, loudly declaring the victorious chant:  
“Speed!”

Richard set his tea on the table and clapped along with Nick as the winner sat back, beaming. “Well done! A commendable effort from you both.” He smiled back as David gave him a nod of approving thanks while Roger’s hand choked his last two cards, nearly crumpling them in his iron grip. He whipped his green eyes up to pierce first the judge, then the victor.

“It’s still best out of three, remember that. You’re not in the clear just yet,” he reminded coldly, leaning forward to collect the cards; loser was delegated to shuffle after each game was completed. He riffled them with ease and bridged them back into his fingers, punctuating the action by making the top card snap loudly. Nick immediately ceased his act of appreciation and David sat back with arms crossed, clearly pleased with himself regardless. “I’m aware. But who says you’ll be able to make up?”  
The table creaked as Roger leaned himself heavily into the surface, burning holes into David’s head. He didn’t move his gaze once as he continued to cut the cards for what seemed like years.  
“Alright, let’s get on with round two then, eh? Before you lot battle with your fists instead.” Nick chuckled if only to cover his shaky honesty; never before had they ever come to blows… but there was always a first time for everything, wasn’t there?

After the game was set up again Richard gave the signal this time, and the playing surface was once again a flurry of hands and plastic-coated paper. David was as calm as ever, which encouraged Roger’s determination even more as he slid card after card onto both piles, careful to replace each one as he shed it from his collection. He kept one half of his mind on his hand and the other on what was happening between the two of them; that guitarist wasn’t going to get the best of him this time, he was sure of it.

Richard offered his cup of tea to his moderator partner, who gladly took it and drained it of its remaining contents. He rose in pursuit of a refill with much less haste than what was utilized by the players. The keyboardist watched the duo in silent admiration as Nick seated himself again, passing the cup and saucer back to its owner, who winced as he took a sip.  
“You put far too much milk in this.”  
“If we’re going to share it we might as well compromise. You use way too much sugar for my liking, you know.”  
“It’s _my_ tea! Get your own if you’re going to ruin it like this.”  
“It won’t kill you to have a little more dairy. Think of it as regrowing those bones you broke as a child: it’s good for you, hm?”  
Their hushed conversation was interrupted with a strong elbow to Nick’s side, who chuckled in turn. Richard rolled his eyes at the playful remark but remained silent.

“Who do you think will end up winning?” Nick whispered as the battle raged on before them. He pondered the inquiry for a moment.  
“I don’t quite know, to be honest. It could be either of them. Course, I know who I _want_ to win.”  
The drummer met his eyes with curiosity.  
“I told you, Steve and I put quite a bit of money on-”  
_“AHEM!”_

The two jumped at Roger’s angry tone and looked up to see both men staring at them, waiting with bated breath to flip a card from the side piles. Richard flushed a light pink in embarrassment but set his ruined tea down, assessing the situation in front of him: yes, both appeared to be out of moves. The middle piles were in a slight disarray from their eagerness at placing down cards.  
He gently cleared his throat. “Alright then, another tie. Ready, and… draw.”  
The game resumed like nothing had happened and he sat back with a sigh of relief.

David could feel himself slowing down, much to his annoyance. It seemed like Roger’s hand was never full for more than a few seconds at a time but he tried not to focus on it, so as not to distract himself. He set two down and quickly drew two replacements – but the bassist had already put down _and_ drawn two more by the time he was able to even read his new cards. He furrowed his brow just slightly but kept his cool. With just the briefest of glances at his opponent’s razor-sharp focus, he fanned his hand out and prepared to make his final move: ten of spades, Jack of hearts on the left, and, if he was swift enough, he could finish with a wild card Joker, five of diamonds and four of hearts on the right – and pray Roger didn’t have anything that could match with any of those, since he still had one more card in his personal draw stash. Sucking in and biting his lower lip (as he always did during moments of stress, or a particularly intricate guitar solo), he went for it.  
Despite nearly giving himself a paper cut from how quickly he snatched up his final card, Roger’s eyes had narrowed evilly, and David’s widened in surprise as the table shuddered repeatedly with the force of the former’s hands laying down cards, then it creaked audibly as they came down hard to rest on their game. The bassist nearly sent his chair across the room as he simultaneously rose to his feet in triumph:  
“SPEED!”

David sighed quietly to himself, dropped the now useless cards, and pulled the rest toward himself. Now it was Nick’s turn to clap enthusiastically; Richard did the same actions but with far less gusto. The winner collected his chair and reclaimed it with pride, pretending to do a seated bow to the fanfare.  
“Thank you, thank you. All in a night’s work.”  
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone play cards so quickly, Rog. That’s really something you just did.”  
David continued to put all his attention into shuffling, refusing to even look in their direction. Richard watched him with mild worry and his finger ever so slightly curled a little tighter around the teacup’s handle, as if to suffocate its delicate neck. The score was even and that concerned him – and his wallet.

Roger continued to bask in the attention. “You should know better than anyone, Nick, when you’re desperate to do _anything_ but play rugby in uni, you learn to get quite good at other forms of entertainment.” He picked up his half-used cigarette from the ashtray and relit it, taking a drag as he continued: “This may have been before you and I met, but I must’ve spent… damn near five hours almost every day, playing this game over and over with the lad who taught it to me. After sports we’d both had classes we absolutely hated, so we found an empty lounge and set ourselves up in there for the rest of the school day, playing nothing but this until it was almost dark.” He pulled on the tobacco once more before snuffing it out and turned back to his rival.

David said nothing for a moment, then began to deal the cards. He consciously made an effort not to look up. “If you’re finished reminiscing about your fabulous old days, do you think you could find time to spare in order to revisit the stakes? Seeing as it’s anybody’s match now.”  
That snapped Roger’s attention back to the present, who cocked an eyebrow up in attention. “What did you have in mind?”  
“Raise you 50 percent.”  
_“Fifty?!”_ Roger’s mouth fell open after repeating the ludicrous amount and Nick gasped out loud, unable to hide his shock. The oldest member gaped at David, trying to find a hint of sarcasm in his face, but was even more alarmed to find nothing of the sort. They made eye contact for a brief moment and as it happened, he did catch a miniscule sparkle of mischief in the youngest’s eyes. He wondered what it meant.

Nick sat in a daze for a second or two, then shook his head to clear it away. “Dave, you can’t be serious! What you wagered to begin with was already absurd!”  
He paused, then finally raised his eyes to meet his foe’s as he answered, “I am.”  
David knew Roger wouldn’t dare back down from his challenge; he was much too proud and found a whole lot of pleasure in making bets with others. The man would pawn off his entire family on something definitely not worth the trouble just to prove a point, if contested, and then would throw in his car if it meant getting the last laugh on someone else. Gambling was one of his greatest weaknesses. He knew this and decided to use it to his advantage to try and bring himself a prettier sum, provided he could manage to pull off a second win against him. In a game of chance such as this one he wasn’t without doubts it would happen, but he was willing to attempt – if for nothing else than to see the other struggle to accept the terms.  
It amused him to see Roger fighting with his self-discipline, but he dared not show anything more than a small, sly smile. He would wait as long as he needed to. At long last, his competitor gritted his teeth and smirked back.  
“Fine. You’re on. 50 quid go to the winner.”  
“Deal.”  
As they gripped each other’s hands to seal the revised bet, Nick slapped a hand on the table in protest.

“Boys, boys, wait a minute,” he interjected. All eyes were now on him. “I know we agreed to a game of stakes, but isn’t this a bit much? That’s _a lot_ of money.”  
Roger shrugged. “What’s a few pounds to a game of Speed? I’ve lost more at the American casinos in less time.”  
“Rog! Think about it for just one second! That isn’t exactly something to brag about.”  
The pianist found it in himself to finally nod in agreement. “What you’re agreeing to isn’t ‘just a few’ pounds. And I know what we’re all thinking: this latest record is laying a bit more into our pockets, yes, but we only just put it out in March. It’s not even half through April; I wouldn’t do anything rash.”  
“What are you trying to say? That’s it’s going to fail?” Roger suddenly spat back. Richard looked up at him to find cold eyes fixed on his own. He shook his head, quickly turning his gaze to his hands, and felt a bead of sweat glide down his temple that couldn’t be attributed to only the fear of possibly losing his own bets.  
David noticed his retreat. “Let off. He was just trying to-”  
“Rick can speak for himself. He’s got a mouth, hasn’t he? If you’ve got something on your mind about the album, say it.”  
_“Enough,_ Roger! Leave him _alone!”_  
David even caught himself by surprise with the unexpected edge in his voice, but he stood his ground nonetheless. Roger stared at him, then at Richard, then back at David, but said nothing more.

“…Well, anyway, I still think this betting is getting out of hand. Would you please back down your offer, at least just a bit?” Nick ventured, eager to draw attention away from the fractured organist and carefully breaking the silence by way of dismissing the argument in their usual, ignorant manner. The unspoken rule of sweeping things under the carpet was probably the band’s saving grace when it came to handling uncomfortable issues. _We pretend they’re not there…_  
Roger flicked his gaze back to his opponent. “We shook on it. If he wants to throw his money away, that’s on him.”  
The guitarist took the bait with sadistic glee. “Careful now, it might be you who takes the loss.”  
“Prat. I ought to raise you one more just for insinuating.” Roger was blatantly drawing him in now, and though he saw it plain as day, he decided to indulge him anyway. David responded with a sneaky glint in his eye; the temptation to tease was just too much to pass up.  
“20 percent.”  
“Done. 60 pounds now.”  
“Hey! No! Come on now, this is ridiculous!” Nick ran his fingers through his dark curls in exasperation and his moderator partner groaned as he put his face in his hands. “You’re acting mad! Don’t be children about this!”  
“Since when do children gamble?”  
“You _know_ what I mean, David… Ah, never mind. It’s your money after all,” Nick sighed as he gave up trying to wrangle their bad habits. “Honestly. Can’t believe all this over a game of cards…”

He continued to grumble while they readied themselves for the final round.

This was it: _the_ moment. They had already played two complete sets before this one and were positively hungry for a finale. Each had won at least two and were therefore tied 1-1 in the overall score, as they were in this particular situation; as soon as the guitarist was finished arranging the cards the enemies were ready to settle things once and for all. It was younger against older, guitarist against bassist. The raised wager fueling their resolve, and it was out of the question to lose now. David flexed his fingers as he thought, possibly, he might have made a mistake putting forth so much money into one tournament, as there was no surefire way to guarantee his victory without using underhanded measures. After all, Richard had been right (as he usually was, he had to admit) in saying that it was more than just a couple quid tossed into the pot. This had turned into a serious monetary matter, and was he _truly_ prepared to take the loss in the event that the outcome was not in his favor? Current record-breaking album sales aside, how long would it take him to recover?  
Unknown to him, the man seated opposite him at the table was going through a similar crisis of his own. Roger realized he had been all too eager to bow to the prospect of financially draining his nemesis of all he had, but in the moment he hadn’t considered the potential of being in the position himself. He knew he would be alright even if he lost; Judy’s teaching would eventually reimburse their family, his habit of staying somewhat frugal was sure to reward him, of course there was their wildly successful new album; yet he still had his intrusive thoughts. He closed his eyes but for a moment and waved away the concerns in his mind. He had said so himself: it was too late to back down now. Still, as he examined his hand with deep focus, something nagged him to reconsider; but he pushed that away, too.

And at the sound of Richard’s voice, the end had officially begun.

The display of aggressive card handling was so fierce Nick had actually grabbed Richard’s arm purely out of reflex, watching the game as if it were two dogs biting around each other’s heads. The latter couldn’t even blame him as he was rather close to doing the same himself.  
They made their way to a draw, resolved it, reached another, then continued for several seconds before reaching yet another, and it felt like even less time after _that_ before they found themselves unable to use any of their cards for a fourth time. Roger’s heart was beating rapidly and he suddenly realized David had just barely begun to tremble; not enough to be noticed by the others, but in their closer quarters he distinctly noticed the very slight tremors in his hands while feeling his own glistening forehead wrinkle into a frown. As the finish line drew ever closer, second by second, the gravity of the situation was hitting with full force. Both had a full hand and no draw stack left, and the next cards from the side piles would determine everything.

“Call the draw, Rick,” Nick whispered, barely audible. The keyboardist knew what he had to do but was reluctant purely for selfish reasons. Sometimes their manager still intimidated him, and he was the one who’d betted against him. If he lost, there was no telling the kind of backlash Steve and the winner would spew onto him.  
“Richard! Call it!”  
He looked toward David’s hunched body and noticed his ready fingers were… shivering? He recited a silent prayer for a miracle.  
“Do it, Rick,” the guitarist said softly.  
He was holding the teacup so tightly he was surprised it hadn’t shattered into his hands. He drew in a deep, shaky breath, then let it out. “…Another tie. Ready… go.”

His prayer was answered.

Roger flipped his side’s card just the tiniest fraction of a second faster, but that small difference cost him the entire game. David figured the bassist would be so focused on his own end that he would not be looking at both sides, and he was right. At that point the contenders’ hands collided, and they growled warnings to each other through clenched teeth. He had barely had the time to pull his hand away when David saw the unmistakable colors of the Joker: the blessed wild card. With a surge of adrenaline, he threw himself forward and painted his victory in black and red numbers: two sevens of clubs and hearts went with an eight of hearts to the right side, and to Roger’s horror the wild card on the left served as a golden chariot for a King of diamonds and the final card of the night, that one and only coveted suit: _the_ ace of spades.  
The cards leapt from the tabletop as David’s hands slammed down onto the wood, cerulean irises aglow with triumph, as he shouted that precious word for the last time:  
_“SPEED!”_

Richard was instantly elated (and thankful), practically throwing the saucer and empty cup to the side as he cheered with Nick, who also gave his passionate congratulations to a very happy – and relieved – David; the latter was sprawled back in his chair, exhausted from nerves. He took a few deep breaths while he realized he must have been holding it in for the last several seconds.

Roger, meanwhile, had been sitting frozen in shock, then all of a sudden sprang up in a blaze of disbelief. “You bloody cheater!” he declared into the air.  
The champion turned his attention to the underdog, startled.  
“You cheated, didn’t you?!”  
David slowly rose to his feet and Nick could have promised up, down, diagonal, and sideways that he could feel the atmosphere, now heavy with deafening silence, physically grow colder. “Ex _cuse_ me?”  
“You broke the rules when you tried to move my hand out of the way after the last draw. God knows how those two didn’t see it, it was clear as day!”

Richard and Nick exchanged a glance. It had certainly _appeared_ to be an accidental impact in the moment it happened, but at the player’s suggestion of a farce they now weren’t so sure anymore. Richard’s memory flashed to the cheeky look in David’s eye from earlier in the night; had he truly intended on rigging the game for his own benefit? That certainly didn’t seem like his character, but gambling – especially against Roger – tended to lower one’s better judgment at times. He considered bringing it up but decided it was useless, as he had no ground on which to back up the claim concretely.

“Are you mad? I didn’t do that on _purpose,_ we were both going too fast to get out of each other’s way. Just because you lost 60 quid doesn’t mean I cheated, Rog.”  
“He’s got a point,” Nick joined in. “From my view, it really did look like an honest mistake. We all know Dave’s not one to cheat.” He hoped he sounded convincing enough because he was also partially trying to convince himself, his own confidence now shaken.  
Roger slammed a fist down, causing the teacup to clatter over onto its side. “You shuffled the deck, raised the stakes while dealing, and just so happened to get in my way at the very end of the game, and I’m supposed to accept that it was a _‘mistake’?”_  
“Yes, because it was!”  
“Bullshit!”  
Richard noticed the hand curling at David’s side and readied himself to leave his seat but didn’t dare speak a word. The man was starting to lose his usual laid-back, dismissive attitude – and that was a rare omen that could only spell trouble.  
“You _bitch!_ How can you even suggest I’d do such a thing? What kind of person do you think I am?!”  
“Apparently a damn crook! You just _had_ to win, didn’t you; you’re such a spoiled little brat!”

Something snapped within him on hearing that dreaded childhood insult again, and David shocked even himself as his hands came to rest on his chair and shoved it forcefully out of his way. _“Take that back!”_ he screamed. The furniture tumbled across the floor as he started towards Roger, fists clenched. The other simultaneously moved to close the gap, but the other two members both quickly launched themselves from their chairs with a shout in order to restrain them. Richard gripped both hands around David’s arm, and gave him a strong tug to break the attention on his target; he was startled to the core to see a pair of eyes look up at him that was almost unrecognizable with anger. Nick took a wide stance in front of Roger with his back towards him, arms slightly outstretched in an attempt to blockade him in. “This has gone too far, you’re going to kill each other,” Richard cried. “What’s the matter with you two?!”  
“Ask that whiny cunt over there!” David spat, muscles straining under his confiner’s palms.  
_“Fuck_ you, Gilmour!” Roger pressed a firm hand onto Nick’s shoulder in an attempt to move him out of the way, opposite fist raised, but the drummer pushed his weight back and quickly repositioned himself behind him to grip his forearms and hold them down at waist level. The attacker struggled against him but he continued to hold fast. Both peacekeepers exchanged a look, then nodded to each other.  
_“STOP!”_

The synchronized demand shut them up.

“Stop.”  
Nick exhaled with annoyance and released his hold on one of Roger’s wrists, then used the other to turn his body to face him, with free hand on his own hip. He was met with a bewildered expression.  
“I know I can’t force you to rescind your deal, that much is obvious,” he admitted in a tired voice. “But what I _can_ and _will_ insist you do is stop this accusatory and childish name-calling before this band is cut in half. We’re all adults here, and whether or not Dave cheated is _not_ something over which to hit each other. There are more sensible ways to work this out. That’s between you both to decide, but for God’s sake I can’t believe I have to say this: _No. Violence.”_  
Richard finally let go of David’s arm and the latter rubbed his sore skin with a sigh; the area was red where his friend had been holding it in a vice grip. The two arguing men look at each other with menace but knew their drummer was correct: they _had_ made the whole ordeal into something much larger than it needed to be. David felt some remorse from driving his partners up the wall, and Roger was quite humiliated for letting his temper get the better of him. They looked away in shame as they realized how foolish they were truly acting. Tensions had run too high and clouded their reasoning, revealing the ugly, raw emotion that normally remained coiled up behind modest exteriors.  
Richard looked between the two men and also sighed. “I’ve got my own children to babysit. You need to start learning some self-control before someone causes some irreparable damage one day. Now, collect your money and let’s get the hell out of here; I need a drink.”

They wouldn’t dare say “sorry” to each other’s faces, much less with an audience, so Roger pulled out his wallet and unwillingly emptied its contents to the evening’s champion without looking him in the eye. In his peripherals from where he was cleaning up the cards Richard swore he saw David hesitate to take it from him, just for a moment. Had he really…?  
Nick approached him with the empty tea pot and cup in hand, his voice low enough to be out of earshot. “I don’t think we should leave them alone with each other for a bit.”  
Richard nodded in agreement. “They might have another row once we leave. Shall we take them to the bar with us?”  
“Right,” Nick approved, then set the dishes in the sink and turned to the others, changing his tone to a much cheerier one.  
“Alright lads, I concur with Rick. Let’s end the evening on a good note at the pub down the road. You coming along?”

David wavered for a moment, then finally draped his arm around his colleague with a defeated, but genuine grin, as they took their coats and headed out of the building. “Come on then, Rog, what d’you say we go get a few pints? Order anything you like.” He winked at him with impish audacity. “I’ll buy.”  
Roger rolled his eyes, but despite his best efforts couldn’t keep the smirk off his lips. “Bastard. You’ll dry out the entire building.”  
Richard and Nick exchanged satisfied, but pleased, expressions.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks as always to the PF Discord I'm in ✌🏽  
> They should be playing backgammon but I know absolutely nothing about that game so I chose cards. I'm aware that the modern version of Speed they're playing might not have been invented yet but it's fiction so anything's fair right~ (honestly just didn't think about it until I was already halfway through it)  
> Set in 1973 in case the context clues didn't show through as well as I'd hoped. Also I'm new to this so let me know if I need to change the rating for swears and/or mentions of gambling
> 
> P.s. Absolutely fuck commas


End file.
